Risen From 'a Living Cemetery'; A Former White-Collar Criminal, Who Found God in Prison, Is Ordained a Minister

By JACQUES STEINBERG,

Published: March 29, 1993

BRIARCLIFF MANOR, N.Y., March 28—
Until recently, much of Henry G. Fury's adult life could best be described as a riveting, sometimes unpleasant courtroom drama, with Mr. Fury playing all the parts himself.

He was, for several years, a town justice in Carmel, N.Y., where he earned a reputation as a "hanging judge" and once sentenced a lawyer to 15 days in jail -- later reduced to a fine -- for being two hours late for an assault trial. Mr. Fury was also a real-estate lawyer, whose lucrative 20-year career came to a crashing halt in 1988 when he pleaded guilty to charges of bank fraud. As punishment for his crimes, he spent the next 18 months as an inmate in a Federal penitentiary. Hours of Reflection

But much has changed for Mr. Fury, 54, since he was released from prison in 1989. This afternoon, his brushes with the law behind him, he was ordained as a Protestant minister at an emotional ceremony in a stone-covered church in this Westchester County community.

Mr. Fury, a serene man whose face is framed by a close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard, said he concluded that the ministry was his true calling during hours of self-examination in his cell at the Lewisburg Federal Penitentiary near Scranton, Pa.

"When you lose everything," he said in an interview before his ordination, "and then you lose the most important thing you have, which is your freedom, you for the first time understand the magnitude of what you've done."

"Prison is a living cemetery," he said. "The world continues to go on around you. And you just stand still, powerless to participate."

To help ease the pain and heal the lives of his fellow inmates, Mr. Fury has since set up a prison outreach program, based at the Briarcliff Congregational Church, through which he ministers to prisoners at about a dozen New York State institutions from the Canadian border to Staten Island. 'I Was Spiritually Dead'

A member of the United Church of Christ, a Protestant denomination that stresses social justice, he has also served since January 1991 as the interim pastor at the United Christian Church in Copiague, L.I., where he preached this morning about today's gospel, in which Jesus calls Lazarus back from the dead.

"I used that as God's call to each of us to a spiritual life," he said. "I felt that I was spiritually dead when I was in Lewisburg. My own call back to the living was a direct call from God."

As he shuttles around the state in his compact blue Dodge Colt -- he has put 75,000 miles on its odometer in the last year -- Mr. Fury said he bears little resemblance to the materialistic person that he once was. Gone are the five cars, a Cadillac the most prominent among them. Gone also is his 4,000-square-foot home, replaced by a modest one-bedroom apartment that came complete with a few pesky roaches.

Mr. Fury said he squandered his possessions because he was too proud to declare bankruptcy when his personal and professional debts began to mount in the 1980's. Instead, to pay off his obligations he "diverted" about $2 million from the title-insurance company that he owned. The Federal Bureau of Investigation eventually caught on, he said, and he was arrested in 1988.

Mr. Fury said he credited much of his comeback to the love of his children -- Maria, 28, Matthew, 26, and Hank, 23 -- who visited him almost monthly in prison and never wavered in their moral support, despite the pain he caused them. His 27-year marriage to their mother, Ann, ended in divorce in 1980. His second marriage ended in divorce in 1990. 'He's More Understanding'

Hank Fury, who is studying in New York to be a sound engineer, said he has seen his father change dramatically in recent years. "He's more understanding now, and he's easier to talk to, more approachable," he said.

The Rev. George B. Higgins, the pastor of the Briarcliff Congregational Church and a mentor to Mr. Fury, said Mr. Fury's greatest strength as a minister is his ability to use the struggles of his own life to dramatize the potential of the human spirit.

"He's just a darned good minister of Christ," Mr. Higgins said.

Although reared as a Roman Catholic, Mr. Fury said Protestantism captured his attention while he was in prison. To prepare for his ordination, he began studying at the New York Theological Seminary upon his release. He will receive a Master of Divinity degree in June. Ordination Ceremony

As about 50 relatives, friends and congregants looked on yesterday, Mr. Fury was ordained a minister in a one-hour ceremony that culminated with his kneeling at the front of the church while six members of the clergy formed a circle around him and laid their hands simultaneously upon his head.

But the service's most emotional moment may have come several minutes earlier, with the singing of the hymn "Amazing Grace."

Standing near the center aisle a few rows from the pulpit, his eyes filled with tears, Mr. Fury sang with the choir and those assembled:

"Amazing grace. How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found, was blind but now I see."

Photos: Henry G. Fury, kneeling, who spent 18 months in a Federal penitentiary, being ordained a Protestant minister at the Briarcliff Congregational Church in Briarcliff Manor, N.Y. (pg. B1); Henry G. Fury said he concluded that the ministry was his true calling during hours of self-examination in prison. After his ordination yesterday, he greeted members outside the Briarcliff Congregational Church. (Suzanne DeChillo/The New York Times) (pg. B4)